Playing the Polo Player

Hell, I don’t believe the day I’ve had.

Chapter Four

Rupert

A Few Days Later

After a long day of practice for an upcoming charity game, I spend some quality time in the stable with my horse, Delmar. It’s not a common name for a horse, but it’s the one I’ve given him to symbolize the ocean. The beach, the waves, the sea… It all used to be my love, the bright side of my life back then.

Cocaine had a firm grip on me in those days, but the sea always shone through to give me hope and purpose.

I’m brushing his burnt caramel coat after a bath, watching it shine more and more with every stroke. One of these days, I am going to find the right plot of land to build a house and stable on so that I don’t have to board him here. I’ve been hesitating on the decision, admittedly. The polo scene here is thriving, but isolated and not quite at the level of cultivating a professional league. There are more opportunities for polo players in Palm Springs, Florida.

That’s where my addiction started, and where it would start again if I went back. My father, brother, and friends all tell me that I should give Palm Springs another chance. That it’s been years and I’m different now. But I don’t want to risk it. And besides, I love it here in Virginia.

I’m only thinking about this now to try and convince myself that Luce Normandy isn’t the only thing that’s on my mind. Ever since we parted ways, it’s been nothing but wondering what she’s doing and thinking about the kiss we shared. It feels crazy and obsessive to have someone on my mind like this— yet I can’t explain it. It’s led me to not text her back, wanting time to sort through my thoughts and feelings.

The thing about being an addict is, I know that I have a tendency to replace one dependency for another. And after one too many failed flings in the past, I know better than to jump into something so easily with Luce. Well, if I haven’t already ruined things with her by not texting.

“What seems to be the problem, exactly?” a familiar voice calls in the distance. I don’t even look, knowing my mind is just playing tricks on me.

It can’t be. It’s just the addiction. The addiction to her.

Don’t look. Don’t disappoint yourself when the mirage turns out to be just that.

“This horse is supposed to be a year old, isn’t it? It’s acting like a skittish foal,” Josh Anders muses.

“No, this horse was purchased at ten months old. Though, I’m not sure why he is skittish. He’s always been so confident…”

I laugh. Even the casual brattiness is hers, the tendency to just say what’s in her mind, no matter how inappropriate. How is my imagination doing this to me? It’s…

I glance up and my breath stalls in my throat.

It is her.

I blink once, just to make sure, but when I open my eyes she’s still there.

As casually as I can, I step back from the horse, dusting off my hands, and maneuver myself as best I can to watch her out of the stall without being too conspicuous. There, diagonal from Delmar’s stall, is the one where Anders’ new foal resides. They are already there, their backs to me. I take the opportunity to admire her frame. She can’t be more than five-foot-four and is all the woman a man could want. Once again, she’s in jeans that hug every dip and curve, though now she’s wearing a plaid shirt that I can tell isn’t buttoned in the front by the way it hangs at her sides. My mind flashes with dirty images of pinning her to the stall wall, pressing our bodies together as I explore every inch of her.

Stop it. Even in the privacy of my mind, I don’t want to objectify her. There were brief moments the other day, during the couple of hours we got to spend together, that I felt there was more to her than someone I wanted to just hook-up with. Though, the idea of even a night with her is so very tempting.

“What age is he meant to grow out of this?” Anders asks Luce with contempt as they stand there and examine the young horse, who is in the corner of the stall with his face to the walls.

Luce opens the gate and paces inside. She makes a soothing sound and clicks her tongue lightly to get the horse’s attention. Even from my angle, I can witness the foal cautiously turning his head to look at her. She offers out her hand, allowing the creature to sniff her before she finally pets it. The horse livens up immediately, neighing and lifting his head toward Luce’s in a nuzzling gesture.